The Guest
by TheBlackCatCrossing
Summary: Life's not easy being the daughter of a 700 year old megalomaniac. What happens when Talia al Ghul gets a drop in surprise from her chief rival, the Catwoman? Slight femme slash. HUSH Era. One shot. Complete.


_Title:_

_Characters: Selina, Talia. As told from Talia's POV._

_Rating: T_

_Era/setting: Hush_

_Author's note: This takes place around when Hush first made his rounds. Talia still runs Lexcorp. I swear I had no intention of writing this today but I was at the gym and the words just came!_

_Feedback: Please_

_Flames: Only good for barbecues and I will send them back in a brown bag with dog poop._

Another day, another win. I have no tolerance for less than the ideal goal whenever I put on this power suit every day. My expectations are nothing short of perfect. Some might call my tactics extreme and cruel, but it has yielded results such as the opening of a research center on Branch and Third.

I have been made three bids from three international companies and swallowed them up like a whale shark does krill or a guppy. These fools driven by their passion to fatten up their stock portfolios and all for a quick spike in their reports just shows that they only think in the short term and only make their bets carelessly and deal with the wrong hand at the wrong time. Running this business has been honed into a skill for me. It's all about the timing, meeting the right people and most of all, and the right words. My advice, be nice to those who are richer than you.

I have been called many things, ruthless, cruel, and megalomaniacal. All that can be erased with the big donation I will make to the children's hospital. They call me extreme? They have obviously never met my father.

Driven for a hunger to cleanse this world of 'human vermin' as he would call them, my father's cause is noble in the idealistic sense. I may be my father's daughter but there is a time when I have to spread my wings and step outside of his shadow. His desire to see a more perfect union is altruistic, but his means are inhuman, as I have come to know. It is not congruent with society's more merciful glance, so I make my own luck using more subtle means such as promising a troupe of freedom fighters to Libya when the media would dub them terrorists. Is it still terrorism when their will is to free a child from living in fear every night from the nation that is supposedly helping him, the very one in the same that took out his entire family? I admit, I was once a disciple for my father's cause, but now as a grown woman, I have outgrown such childish fantasies. His obsession for a utopia has cost me a lot of things, but none so more as the heart of one man. My beloved was always at war with my father, but even as someone like the Dark Knight, a man driven by logic, not passion, reason not intuition even broke bread with my father and took my hand and made temporary peace with him. It was like a dream, but like dreams, it could not last. Whether it was because my Beloved saw an opportunity to make peace with a man who has lived for centuries and countless lifetimes while still maintaining the same goal or if my Beloved used me to get to my father's better nature, I will never know. A man like that is entitled to his secrets and because I cherish the Batman I wish to not intrude on them. In my eyes and heart, he is the perfect human specimen.

I saw a rare vulnerability in him that could not be breached by anyone else. He shared with me his most private thoughts. Such a man would not be so vulnerable in front of someone unless they had trusted them with their innermost secrets, no?

I was the one who motivated my Beloved to return to his roots and take back what was his after his city was devastated by an Earthquake. I may not shower him with the most tender affection all the time, I may not molly coddle him, but one thing I am not is someone who toys with his heart like a cat with a toy mouse. I do not treat my Beloved's feelings and use them like jewelry for my own amusement. I may not be the most affectionate person but that does not mean that I do not care. It is a sign of weakness in my eyes. Never let them see you at your most human. It gets the job done at the plant and it certainly gets me what I want.

My penthouse is not too far off the company headquarters. I own a medium sized condominium with all the fixings that would make a king green with envy. My patio and my balcony are festooned with the rarest fauna bred by the botanist, Pamela Isley. The Aztec Gilia she made has yielded results at the company's research center and now I am getting offers from several companies to breed more of these rare specimens of bloom to make a variety of things no doubt, special creams for the geriatrics or even stem cells. Whatever it may be, I see an opportunity even at the lowest level. Where Batman might see trash, I see a chance to make things right.

I free myself from my bond that is my business suit. I do not care for such menial things as designer labels or how much the latest gadgets cost. If anything, those are superficial labels that, if can be used correctly can hide the wolf amongst the sheep, just like myself at that business meeting earlier today. Like patterns in a herd of zebra, it is a sense of belonging, or at least in my case, the perception of it.

The water running down me cleanses my spirits. The smell of that grime that is testosterone seeps into my pores and only adds unnecessary stress to myself. Slowly, I am relieved of the tension that has built up inside of me. The muscles relax as droplets of lukewarm water run down my body and begin a sort of relaxed therapy that slowly ebbs away any strain that was caused by that idiot who forgot the papers at the end of the meeting. Even if the offer was accepted, I demand perfection. I apply a conditioner to my hair and begin to rub it into a lather and run it through my hair. The scent is a smell that relaxes my senses. It is a combination between rare hibiscus and other rare flowers. It is a smell that is no stranger to me. In fact, were amongst my favorites when I was a little girl. Much like my Beloved's penchant for pearl necklaces as a bastion of innocence before he was brought into the world he has come to know, the rare hibiscus is that for me. It is a simple pleasure and nothing more. I run the soap along my arms, the bubbly substance wiping away any impurities along my skin. My bones relax as I run the soft sponge around my skin, forgetting the day's troubles temporarily before I go back on that treadmill tomorrow morning.

When I am finished, I have the routine of applying several creams along my skin. Again, the scent is an intoxicating depressant. The lavender scented cream is one of my favorites. It is said to be a favorite amongst men. I myself have no penchant for mere superstition but I try it for its relaxing properties. I finish it all off with a simple beige nightgown. The night is still cool and I have no need for the extra sheets so I go for something comforting. The least I could do is allow myself this indulgence without prying eyes. Here in this house, I am Talia Head, owner of LexCorp. I am only Talia al Ghul when I need be and I closed that chapter in my life a long time ago.

I am about to start the next chapter of Through the Looking Glass when I hear a loud ruckus. It startled me somewhat but considering that my father is well crafted in the fine arts of international location, I should not be too surprised that one of his shadow warriors are paying me a visit. I turn to the source of the loud noise. It came from the balcony. A poor tactic if you ask me. Perhaps they were trying not to be too subtle. I grab a small shotgun which I keep hidden underneath a pile of rich fabrics in case such an encounter would happen and I make it to the gateway. I slowly turn the curtain. Whoever it was, they are still there, dressed in black, struggling, and now is my chance to pounce.

Almost immediately, I swing my protective shield open and aim my weapon at the intruder.

The first thing I noticed was the rain that covered this stranger. This did not turn out to be a routine checkup. It looked more like an accident and the unlucky one was at my mercy. I notice that the figure is female, she is small but very strong. Her cries give away at something deeper. She was in pain, I move in closer, stone faced. It was then that I got a good look at those familiar pair of sea green eyes that I was taken aback.

She was the bane of my existence, the rival to my beloved's broken heart. One would think that I should be smiling like a cat that just ate the canary, but I do not. Although she is a worthy adversary, she was hurt and I was not about to leave someone I knew wounded at my doorstep. Not if I could help it.

"Are you hurt?" I ask.

"No," she lied. She struggled away from me, but she did so poorly. She fell back almost immediately as she tried to lift herself up and back away.

"I do not believe you. Let me see your hand," I persisted.

"Relax, I can handle this, "she spat back with poisonous flair. I admit the Catwoman has this fiery personality that I cannot deny is what attracted Bruce to her in the first place. While he was his stoic, unfeeling individual, she was more colorful in her own way. Still, she was as stubborn as a mule and I was not about to let her rot out here, as much as I wanted her to.

"No you can't. I can clearly see that you are in great pain and I will not let you run around on rooftops when I have several remedies at my hand," I offered. I kneel down beside her. I can clearly see now that she was hurt. The blood pouring down her nose, the soft moans that evaporated out of her only made me not want to go. I admit, it was quite something seeing a woman as acrobatic as Catwoman at my feet in such a delicate manner. It had nothing to do with my selfish desire to nurture her. It was seeing her in this delicate state that reminded me of the times I have nursed Bruce back to health and the itch was coming back again.

"Let me see," I whisper, I reach over and she still refuses.

"No!" She counteracted. I let out a depressed sigh.

"This is what happens when you spend too much time going after tawdry things like jewelry. What happened?"

"Cable, broke," she said finally with a cough.

"I surmised as such," I replied without any tone in my voice. I reach down to her.

"What are you…doing?" she asked weakly, she struggled mildly. I prop her into my arms before I stand.

"I am only offering you help and even if you think that you can make it out there in his downpour, you are sadly mistaken.

"I told you!" she hissed. Such spirit but none of the discipline I think to myself. "I can go on just fine!"

I lift her up and carry her over to my bed. The poor thing is obviously beaten and bruised.

"You go on like that and I will make sure Ubu takes care of you accordingly," I lie. I just could not stand anymore of this incessant complaining.

"You wouldn't," Catwoman counteracted.

"Don't think I will not and I highly suggest that you rest for now. You cannot go around the alleys and streets like this in such condition." I said hotly. Just like a child.

Catwoman sat up on my canopy bed and supported herself with her good arm. She stained as she did so. I predicted torn muscles on her back and spine.

"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked. It was the inevitable and I had no idea how to respond but truthfully.

"Because I do not wish for my Beloved to find out that I let you rot out there while you were in an hour of need," I said simply. The look on her face was still. A hint of surprise and embarrassment flushed, from what I could tell. "I am only being altruistic because I can," I added before I sat next to her. I took her hand and examined it.

"Ow, ow," Catwoman protested.

"Hush, just let me look," I said softly. I removed the leather that encapsulated her delicate hands. They were finely chiseled, carved like one of Michelangelo's sculptures. All this time, I saw them as weapons but now, they were bare and in great pain. I apply pressure to it and she winced. Just as I predicted, it was a torn tendon. Nothing that Western medicine taught me I had not learnt from traditional methods that were passed down for thousands of years.

"Does it hurt here?" I ask when I press my fingers around the carpel area. She bit her lips and nodded. I reach over for a cream that used Aztec Gilia properties and apply it to her wrist. I admit, I was amazed as to how submissive she had become under my touch. Her scent, a perfume of sorts is what got my attention.

"This should relax the pain away," I replied.

"You don't have to do this," The Catwoman purred. Her voice, a slow and sensual sound broke me from my concentration. When we were not trading adolescent insults, I could see the beauty that this woman possessed. A playful, independent spirit, she was.

"I don't have to. I WANT to," I reassured her. I remove her broken glass eyewear to get a better look at those azure colored eyes. Even if Selina Kyle was of Anglo descent, she had this exotic look that radiated from those orbs of emerald green.

"Come, I do not wish for you to catch a cold. I will provide a set and a trench coat for you if you wish…" I offered. She was of the right sized, well built and medium frame.

"This is too much," she said in a regretful manner. I instinctively took it as an insult but I knew better, she was ashamed that she had fallen into my arms.

"Hush, none of that. This does not leave the room," I said warningly. It was juxtaposition between my feelings and my rational mind. I only wanted to help her if temporarily. I did not think I would be this captivated by another woman's beauty at such close range. She took up my offer and used my powder room. How long she was there, I did not know. All I knew was this sense of loneliness had overcome me while she was gone. When she finally came to, I was somewhat relieved. I took it that she accepted my offer. I had some tea set aside for the two of us. Wrapped in nothing but a towel, she sat down beside me. Our faces only were only a inches apart. She took a sip of her chamomile.

"Thank you," she said finally.


End file.
